


you look lovely through my camera lens

by louvely



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Photographer!Louis, Smut, Unrequited Love, don't know where im going with this but it'll probably have some, famous!harry, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louvely/pseuds/louvely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry is an up-and-coming musician, and louis is the professional photographer who takes photos for him. maybe louis is happy he got called into work today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you look lovely through my camera lens

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing that i've written for quite a while sooo please be forgiving! enjoooy!

Louis rarely woke up after the sun had made its way into the sky.  
Nearly every day of the week, the outside world was a muggy blue, and the other side of his bed was empty, and he didn’t have any time to regret his life of solitude.  
Today, he could see a gossamer light coming through his barred windows. The woman downstairs was hammering something, and the man next door had left his sink on before he left his apartment. The sounds traded off, just sheer back ground noise to Louis’ awakening. He almost smiled at how beautiful the sounds sifted together. He pulled back the covers with a sense of community.  
On his days off, Louis usually did the following:  
He didn’t bother brushing his teeth, and didn’t feel guilty about it, because he wasn’t going to see anyone today. He went straight to the kitchen, in just his boxers, and pulled back the long curtains in his living room to stare out at London at its busiest hour. He could stare for hours, but he didn’t. He ruffled his hair and padded into the kitchen, where he’d usually turn on some quiet music and put the kettle on. Music and tea were the only ways that he could ever start his mornings. He sat on the kitchen counter and stared out the window and drank his tea. Promptly, he’d put on some shorts and kick a football around in the park, maybe ask some younger boys to play a game with him. Maybe it would last for hours and he wouldn’t come back into the apartment until he was proper wrecked and ready for a shower.  
Today, things were not going as per usual.  
Unfortunately, he hadn’t even finished preparing his tea when his telephone rang. Crossing his fingers that it was only his mum, he leapt back into his bedroom and snapped open his phone.  
“Hello?”  
It was Margaret. Naturally, someone had booked her last minute, she couldn’t find a babysitter. “You think you could go to the shoot for me?” She apologized once, but expectantly, and Louis knew that he would have to agree. “Be at Parliament Hill at ten-thirty?”  
Louis left the house without any tea but managed to brush his teeth. He thought: I really need to quit. It is a Sunday morning and there is not a mug in my hands and I haven’t had time for a proper wank since starting this job.  
He spent the entire car ride praying for the girl to at least be really hot, just this once. The past week, he’d done a shoot for an aspiring magician, and a pretentious young couple, and even a ridiculous duck-themed shoot for a newborn. He didn’t even care if she was nice at this point; he just wanted her to have something decent for him to be looking through his camera lens at.  
Louis made it to Hampstead Heath in half an hour, two minutes late.  
The park, regardless of being a Saturday morning, was empty, aside from someone standing in the gravel parking lot. Louis hopped out of his car, taking a glance at the hopeful football in the backseat. He pulled his camera over his neck. He definitely didn’t think about the water in the kettle that was waiting to be resurrected, rebirthed into a nice steaming mug of Yorkshire tea.  
He thought: this shouldn’t take too long. Maybe this can just be a slight delay to my morning. There is still tea to be made and boys in the park to play a game of football with and a hot shower at home.  
The lanky silhouette in the parking lot started trekking toward Louis.  
“Are you Louis?”  
“Most definitely,” Louis said, shutting his car door. He turned, shifting his bangs across his forehead, and looked up.  
“I’m Harry,” Harry said, relieved.  
Louis was quietly startled. He thought: I think I love my job. I get to stare at this boy through a camera lens for as long as I find necessary.  
“Nice to meet you,” Louis said. He stuck out his wobbly arm and Harry greeted it with his longer, lankier limb. Louis shook his hand and looked away and ushered him into the park.  
Louis liked Harry’s choice of scenery. Hampstead Heath was the kind of park that anyone outside of England would picture an English park looking like. It wasn’t far outside of London, but once inside, you would never be able to know. The silence was resilient, almost irking.  
Harry was staring at his feet as they walked, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. Louis was relieved; the key to having a successful photo shoot was a client that didn’t look absolutely terrified to be in Louis’ presence.  
“Have you done one of these before, then?”  
“Never,” Harry admitted. “I, um. I’ve just finished an album, actually. Needed some pictures, other than the awkward party photos that I get tagged in on Facebook…”  
Louis laughed. “Of course.”  
“Have you been doing this for long?”  
“I’ve been taking pictures since I was in secondary school, mainly just for the newspaper and that,” Louis replied. “I only got this job a bit ago, though.”  
“So, you don’t have, like, three assistants or anything?”  
“No, not yet.” Louis really hoped that he wouldn’t be at this job for long enough to earn any assistants. “What about you? How long’ve you been working on this album?”  
“About a year.” Harry took a deep breath. “I didn’t really take it seriously, but now I’m getting gigs left and right and I’ve been signed…guess it feels a bit surreal, if I’m honest.”  
Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “That’s fantastic, wow…” He hoped his envy wasn’t peering through his words. “Wow. I feel like I’m shooting a proper celebrity now.”  
“No, no,” Harry said, blushing. He shot Louis a grin, and Louis was positive, at that moment, that Harry was going to be a star. The smile, the friendliness. The quirky way of dressing.  
Louis started Harry off under trees, in simple shots. He took photos of him on benches, he took photos of Harry with his guitar; he even took some of Harry climbing a tree, but the boy looked ridiculous, so Louis thought that he’d just keep some of those to himself. They made their way up to Parliament Hill, though, and that was where Louis’ got the best shots. He snapped Harry standing on the edge, Harry looking out at London, Harry’s feet hanging over the edge of the hill. It was the most effort that Louis had put into a shoot.  
Normally, when Louis was called in to take photos, he had to retrieve inside himself a certain level of discipline. He had to direct the couple to lean in slightly this way or that way, or for the mother to tilt the hat of the baby so that the shadows would be slightly more vivid, or for the girl to smile more with her eyes and less with her teeth.  
Louis didn’t have to say anything to Harry the entirety of the time that they spent in the hill. Louis didn’t have to tell him to smile bigger; Harry was already elated. He didn’t have to tell Harry to lean more against the bench. Every pose that Harry assumed was sincere, and any face that he pulled looked genuine. Nothing he did needed editing. Louis wanted to print out the photos immediately and spread them out over his bed and tape them to his wall. He didn’t want any retouching or removing.  
“Well, I think we can start wrapping this up…” Louis called.  
Harry nodded from his position on the bench, watching Louis lower his camera and turn it off. “Sounds good.”  
“Any other shots you’d like to get?”  
“Yeah, um…do you think you could take a picture of me with my cell phone?” When Harry saw Louis’ brow quirk humorously, he swallowed. “Um, I want to send a picture to my mum…she hasn’t seen me in ages. It’ll make her day.”  
Louis nodded and waited for Harry to unlock his phone. Harry stood at the edge of the hill, arms outspread, making the goofiest expression he could manage. Louis laughed out loud—it was such a different boy than the professional, pulled together musician he had photographed under a tree.  
Louis handed Harry back his phone. Harry looked hesitant.  
“I think it’s only fair that I get a picture of you,” Harry said.  
Louis flushed. “What? Why?”  
“You’ve been taking pictures of me for hours. Here, smile.”  
Louis was shaking his head in disbelief when the camera went off, and he was trying to compose himself when it went off again. Several photos followed, all of which Louis was genuinely smiling in.  
“There. Guess we’re done here, now.”  
Louis paused. “Why don’t you play something for me?”  
Harry raised his eyebrows but bit his lip excitedly. “Really?”  
“Yes!”  
Louis sat on the bench and Harry sat in the grass across from him, pulling his guitar into his folded lap. “What should I play?”  
“I don’t know. Anything. Give me your next hit single, popstar.”  
Harry shifted into a state of composure as he cleared his throat and bent his fingers against the guitar strings. He started to strum, quietly, consistently. His singing carried into the instrument so well that Louis could honestly never tell you when exactly he had started to sing. It just worked, slid into his personality so well. He played and sang like he had been born from a test tube and made solely for the purpose of belting out a tune.  
Louis’ mouth must’ve been slightly ajar when Harry looked up at him, and Louis realized that the song was over. “What did you think?” Harry’s eyes were greener than Louis had seen them before and quickly, Louis could feel that the earth was starting to orbit Harry in that very moment.  
“That was incredible,” Louis said, much too fast. “I…don’t even know what to say. I don’t know if I’ll ever walk again.”  
Harry grasped Louis’ wrist and pulled him off of the bench. “But I don’t want to have to carry you to your car…”  
Harry tugged Louis off the bench so quickly that Louis didn’t really have time to process the fact that he was inches away from Harry’s lips—the same lips that he’d watched through the camera lens, wondered about their texture—and was staring into his eyes. Harry leaned in, slightly, unsurely.  
Louis was straight. So, so straight. That was why he hadn’t had a girlfriend for three years and had a hard time ever feeling really satisfied after kissing one. It was just that Harry was really pretty, and charming, and when he spoke, Louis felt like a breeze had just ran through him.  
Louis was straight, though, so he looked down and side stepped Harry, pretending like he hadn’t almost kissed him just then. He denied himself the fact that looking at Harry felt like being struck by lightning, or getting brought back to life. He didn’t think about how he still wanted to know if Harry’s lips would taste as pink as they looked.  
He didn’t bother looking at Harry until he was a healthy amount of feet away from him. “Um, so, I guess that’s it. The pictures should be ready in a week, I believe. I’m sure that they’ll give you a call when they’re ready.” He was talking quicker than he normally did.  
“Right. Okay, sounds good.”  
They started walking down Parliament Hill, the afternoon sun high but comfortable. Louis’ knees were still shaking slightly from the almost-kiss and Harry wasn’t saying anything. He looked a little flushed, honestly, his guitar hanging over his shoulder. Louis noticed how pigeon-toed he happened to be, and kind of wanted to chuckle.  
“You’re really good, you know?”  
“What?” Harry lifted his head.  
“I mean, I know you’re going to make it, big-time.” Louis paused. “Eh, why don’t I get a photo with you? So I can show all my friends when you’re, like, proper famous. Selling out the O2 and that.”  
Harry’s grin was much too big for his face. Louis yanked his phone from his back pocket and Harry stood too close next to him, shoving his shoulder into Louis’. Louis was grinning, and so was Harry, and maybe they took several photos after that. And maybe Louis didn’t ever plan on deleting any of them, even the blurry ones, or the ones that captured Louis’ bad side.  
“Lovely. Thank you.”  
Harry nodded. “Any time.”  
They made their way down the hill, sweet little conversations between them. Louis told him that he’d rather by playing the piano or professional football, about how he’d only taken this job as a sort of in between, and Harry took him seriously. Told him he should go for it.  
When they reached their cars, it seemed too soon.  
And Louis thought: I’m never going to see this person again.  
“You know, I actually had a lot of fun,” Harry confessed, smiling up at the clouds. “I was a tad nervous at first, honestly. Never really, uh, been the picture-taking person, I suppose.”  
Louis snorted. “Mate, you’ve been the best customer I’ve had since I’ve been doing this. Don’t tell the others. You’re a natural, really.”  
Harry grinned, again. It seemed to be the only expression he was capable of. Louis fished his keys out of his pocket and watched Harry’s thumbs rub against each other. Louis stood, leaning against his car, keys suspended idly in his hands. He wanted to ask Harry if he would like to take a drive with him. He wanted to ask Harry if the boy would play for him every single beautiful song he’d written on their way back into the city.  
Instead, he said, “I had a lot of fun, too, though.” He nodded to himself. “Guess I’ll, uh, see you around?”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Harry’s brows knit together and he stared at the ground. “Nice talking to you.”  
Louis thought: how long can we possibly draw this out before we say goodbye?  
“I hope you like the photos.” He smiled at Harry and shook his hand and they got into their cars.  
Just as Louis’ started his car, Harry’s long fingers brushed against the window. Louis rolled it down, biting his lip.  
“Um, just…I really think you should go for what you want to do, you know? Like, if you want to play football, do it. And if you want to play Carnegie Hall in America, do it. You can do whatever you set your mind to. Don’t settle for something you don’t absolutely love.”  
Louis exhaled quietly. “I can’t promise anything, but if it all works out…I’ll tell David Beckham to give you a call.”  
Harry nodded, pleased with this answer. “I hope I see you again, Louis.”  
Harry and Louis stared at each other for a moment. Louis felt like he’d been plunged into the company of this human who was built for him.  
Louis paused. “Um, here. Take my phone number, yeah?” He scribbled it onto a receipt and thrust it into Harry’s palm. Harry, looking triumphant, got into his car and the two drove apart. 

Louis went home and made tea and played soccer with the boys in the park but he didn’t feel like he was really moving. He felt like someone was moving through his regular weekend routine for him, while his feet were still planted firmly on the grey gravel parking lot that he’d last seen Harry in. Even for the rest of the week, he saw Harry’s eyes in the photos on his phone, and he could feel the boy’s breath on him from when they’d almost kissed. He could clearly imagine his lanky limbs clambering around between trees and on grass. 

Thirteen months later, Louis’ had to sell his car for money, because he’d lost his job, and he was barely scraping by at his job at Morrison’s. He had downgraded to a smaller apartment and rode strictly by bus or train, barely had money for tea or groceries.  
Harry was a sensation. His fame was a mudslide, pulling the world in like a black hole. He was on the cover of magazines in London, selling out tours in America, and hell, he’d already played at the O2—twice.  
Louis had thought about sending him a message, congratulating him on his success. He’d thought about it back when Harry was just getting started. But now, the boy was big—Louis doubted that he even had a proper way to get a hold of him anymore. Besides, it was likely that every person that the boy had ever met was sending him emails left and right, yearning for a taste of that fortune. Louis just wanted to see him, honestly; tell him, “I told you.”  
Louis’ had been invited to a pub with an old friend and decided that tonight, he’d take a taxi. He slid into the seat and sat with his head tilted against the glass.  
A song came on the radio, and he thought quickly: this is Harry. He hadn’t heard the song before; it was a newer one, and softer than his previous singles. It was still a little less personal than the one that he’d played for Louis, but it had the same sound to it.  
His voice sounded just slightly more clean-cut than when he’d given Louis the private concert at the top of the hill, but it was still gravelly and bottomless and Louis’ chest was heaving in seconds.  
“I didn’t know I’d always miss / The way I thought we’d almost kiss.”  
Louis, fingers numb, retrieved his phone from his back pocket. Immediately, he revisited the pictures of him and Harry together, from that day. It was (definitely not) the fifth time in just this month that he’d looked at the pictures.  
“Fuck,” Louis mouthed.  
“This is Harry Styles, yeah?” the cabbie asked.  
“I believe so,” Louis breathed.  
“The kid is blowing up, eh? It’s mental. He’s so young, but he’s already slept with half of London.”  
Louis just nodded, for the man. “Um, do you know what this song is called?”  
The song was called Parliament Hill.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> also: if you would like to follow my tumblr, please do! i post a bit of one direction, hipster shit, text posts, the like. :)
> 
> llouvely.tumblr.com
> 
> thaaanks a bunch for reading!


End file.
